


Words That Catch In Your Throat and Burn Your Lungs

by Teharissa



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Author has no confidence in herself, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Depression, Gen, I'm Sorry, Lots of heavy topics, Lots of self deprecation both by Tim and author, Low Self Esteem, Self Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 11:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17182109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teharissa/pseuds/Teharissa
Summary: "I'm sorry." "I don't need your pity." In which the world is dark and broken, and Tim is only reflecting what's there. Has no timeline. Mentions of attempted suicide.





	Words That Catch In Your Throat and Burn Your Lungs

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for attempted suicide. I do not own DC, Batman, or any of his kids. Also, what's a timeline?

“I’m sorry.”

The words meant nothing--small specks on the grand scape of the universe. They had no real value, no real virtue. Words were but nothing, fallacies that humankind had created to reassure themselves they were better than others. So why did those two simple words-- words that were taught to those still learning to speak, the crying toddler who had yet to feel guilt over punching her sister, words that were manifested at such an early age--hurt so much?

“I don’t need your pity.” The world was black and grey and blurred around him, a haunted afterimage. Tim held his vision steady, hand almost tempted to reach out clutch onto Dick’s hand-- his brother, who had never let him down. Until Damian had come along. Then everything changed, and what was previously his family felt worn down and broken.

“I should have been there for you. Tim, this isn’t pity. Just let me in.” Dick’s voice was concerned, pleading, genuine. In other words, a lie that Tim didn’t want to believe. There was no point after all, and he tilted his head away. Purposefully avoiding the sight of Dick, pleading with him. Begging with him to drop his walls, to let his guard down, to let vulnerability through.

Tim didn’t quite know what to make of that anymore. He was high on pain medication, after all, and his emotions were so jumbled, and Tim was just so tired. He didn’t want to deal with the pain, the hurt, the thoughts that bombarded him. So he ignored it in favor of just sitting there and pretending that no one cared about him. Pretended it so much that he believed it to be true. Pretending got him by, because if he stopped and told himself to drop this guard, to let them in, he would lose himself. Love was a lie, and it was always temporary. Tim had learned this from an early age--when his mother would ignore his chubby hand pulling on her shirt and walk too fast for his little legs to handle, when he would trip over the train of her skirt and watch her disappear into a crowd--no concern, no love for her son.

It would leave him eventually. They would all die--withering away until they became but lost souls carried over the land--weaving through trees and water until they were far, far away from him. Tim knew this in his blood. Dick had already betrayed his trust, Dick had already proved this. So how dare he try to drill his way into Tim’s heart, and hear his secrets--how dare he let Tim pour his heart out, and try to find out why?

Why?

It was a question that there was no answer for, not really. Tim still didn’t fully know--it had felt right at the time, and still did, if he were to answer himself truthfully. Deep in his bones, he knew that. Deep inside himself, he could feel the longing to grab a razor, to remove himself from this insignificant, horrid world. He could finally be at peace, no longer burdening those around him. No longer some poor little soul that no one loved, that everyone had to pretend to love.

His mother wouldn’t care. That much was obvious, and Tim clenched his eyes closed at the thought of it and tried to hold in the tears. The fact that he had let himself get beat to a pulp, and willingly stopped fighting. Had just fallen limp, and let Two Face have his way. Had stopped every little bit of fight he had in his body. He had let the pain come, embraced it even.

And then he tried to find a way to end it. He had no remorse, no regrets, no hesitation when he tried to jump off that building--only just barely freed from Two Face’s clutches and so desperate for a way out. Cass had stopped him--just barely caught him in time. The simple fact that he had tried to end it, tried to remove himself from the face of the earth, had wanted to die so surely--still did. This was only a slightly shocking realization, the more horrific one being the fact that his mother truly wouldn’t care. The one person who was always supposed to be there for him, the one person that was supposed to tuck him in at night, to reprimand him when he ate crayons, to praise him when he got a good test grade. The person who had died, died without ever having said, “I love you.”

That’s how he knew he didn’t deserve to be loved. And Dick, sitting there beside him, couldn’t make him feel any different.

“Tim. Listen to me. Please.”

No way.

His bed sank, as another weight climbed into it. Dick pulled him close, and Tim tensed--eyes widening. His struggle was late and slow--lethargic as if he was trying to move through syrup. Dick just squeezed him, burying his face into Tim’s shoulder.

“Let go.” Tim’s voice cracked, but Dick didn’t oblige. He simply breathed into Tim’s shoulder--the unbruised one- and let wet tears fall onto Tim’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry this happened. You're my little brother, I should have been there.” Dick mumbled, words barely coherent through red face and sticky cheeks.

“Stop. Stop lying to me.” Tim clenched his eyes closed, “I don’t want this. I’m--I’m--”

And then he was crying too, not loudly like Dick, but softly and brokenly--like a princess or a doll. He couldn’t bring it in him to care that he had just promised himself he wouldn’t pour his heart out, that Dick didn’t love him. At that moment, it was difficult to believe and he hugged back as his body shuddered silently.

“I’m not lying. Tim, why would you say that?” Dick hiccuped, “I love you. I love you so much.”

“How could you?” Tim felt his walls tear away, “How could you? Even my own mom didn’t--”

He cut off again, and he felt his eyes open--almost as if he was seeing the room for the first time. Eyes fell out the window onto the city, the gentle beeping of the many machines hooked up to his arms a gentle background noise. Fluorescent lights shined down on them, though they were set back on the far side of the room, and only vaguely lit the two of them up.

Dick finally straightened up a little, no longer lying down as he clutched Tim. He twisted in his seat, facing Tim directly. Sapphire eyes locked onto crystal orbs and he gripped Tim’s shoulder.

“Don’t. Don’t even go there.” Dick said, tears finally slowing, “Your mom loved you--even if she was a dick, pardon my name--and refused to show it. And more importantly, that still doesn’t affect the way I feel.

I know I haven’t shown it much recently. I know I have been busy with Damian. I know you feel as if I--” Dick paused, trying to find words. Eventually, his head fell, almost in shame. His voice was breathy, almost impossible to hear when he finally spoke again, “I know it might feel as if I betrayed you. I did something, that while I felt was right, was not okay. It’s too late to take that back, but I did what I had to for Damian. It wasn’t okay for you. There should have been a better way.

But please know you're loved. Please. You are worth so much, and you are amazing, and people care. I care. Don’t try to kill yourself again. Please. Please.” Dick broke down again, sobbing. He fell into Tim’s chest, pounding on it softly.

Tim stayed frozen, eyes widened. His mind seemed to be stuck, rebooting. Like a computer crash. Hesitantly, after a moment, finally blinking tears out of his own eyes, he rested a hand on Dick’s back.

His arms tightened, and he shook his head as the words finally seemed to process in his brain. It wasn’t all right--not everything was fixed.

But maybe it was a good first step. Maybe it was the beginning of something new, something good, something wonderful. A step in the right direction, away from the trauma and pain.

A step for Tim to realize he’s loved.

And he did the only thing he could think to do, said the only thing he could think to say, even if it wasn’t enough, even if it was too much, even if he wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t poetic, he wasn’t flowery, he was too broken down, too fractured to even think of being so eloquent. It wasn’t his style of suffering. But still, he mustered up the words--because they were more, they were important, they could change people--and forced his eyes closed, and opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably too boring to read. If you read all the way through it, you deserve a prize. Consolation. Well too bad. I don’t have any prizes to give.
> 
> Funny. When I first started writing this, I was thinking: ‘I’m gonna write a fic where Death the Kid gets hurt and it’s gonna have Deathstar and it’s gonna be my first Soul Eater fanfiction.’ And then it became DC instead. Not that I regret it, sometimes I desire some good Tim Drake angst. It’s fine though, I’m working on a different Soul Eater fic.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Or, if you didn’t, and thought it was too long, too boring, just me practicing writing techniques and being annoying, and you wish you had never read this far, feel free to tell me.


End file.
